


My Visions are Dreams

by notthewhizkid



Category: Anastasia (1997), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adventure, Anastasia (1997) universe, Bickering, Dancing, Eventual relationship, First Dance, First Kiss, First Love, Gen, M/M, Sherlock doesn't remember who he is, a young man just looking for a place to belong, but actually royal this time, early tragedy, in which sherlock is a royal prat, not exactly the movie but same basic ideas with twists and bbc sherlock characters, sherlock likes dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3824107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthewhizkid/pseuds/notthewhizkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William Scott Holmes, youngest of the Holmes line, might still be alive. His brother, heir to all of the former Holmes empire, is offering a sizable reward for anyone who can reunite the two of them. </p><p>Sherlock is an orphan just looking for a place that will actually accept him, and he thinks it might be in Paris. When an opportunity to travel to France arises, he wonders if the small hope of a family is worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Visions are Dreams

The empire shone as the greatest in the western world, or so Mycroft was convinced as he looked around the grand ballroom. Couples danced in perfect time, twirling skirts moving past and brushing against one another, men holding their partners’ waists as they kept in step. Mycroft knew each person in the room, knew their name and social standing, their family and history, every detail he could possibly retain.

Standing near the front of the room, Mycroft watched as all the invitees seemed to enjoy the ball his parents hosted, scanning the festivities. His parents danced happily in the center of the room, greeting those around them but mostly smiling at each other and chatting as they continued easily in the steps of the song.

However, Mycroft searched for another person in the room. No sign of him came until – _ah_!

“Mycroft!” A lanky, quick young boy darted up to the young heir, and Mycroft gave one of his rare, soft smiles. “Mycroft, look!”

Mycroft knelt where he was, greeting his little brother. With just over seven years between their ages, Mycroft often felt as though he could not connect properly with the younger Holmes prince, but they seemed to be as close as ever. “Tell me you did not bring something filthy into the ballroom, William,” he murmured to his brother. Mycroft brushed William’s stray curls back from his face, revealing the boy’s bright eyes. “Mummy will be cross, and you promised you would behave tonight.”

William almost protested, but then he opened his cupped hands, showing Mycroft the candies he’d brought over. They were multi-colored, and Mycroft’s grin grew a bit wider when he saw them. “Our favorites,” he insisted, shoving his small hands closer to Mycroft as if to tell him to take one, which the teenager did. William popped one into his own mouth, grinning like the cheeky ten-year-old he was after tasting the sweet treat.

“Thank you, William,” Mycroft praised, hugging the younger prince close for a minute before pulling away, straightening William’s suit a second later. “I haven’t heard a single shriek from the kitchen maids yet. You’ve been very good, I take it.” William wrinkled his nose, a look of annoyance flashing on his face, but Mycroft knew he just didn’t like being restrained. William was young, and Mycroft recognized the desire to run and have adventures. A few seconds passed, and Mycroft sent his brother a conspiratorial smirk, taking the boy’s hand and pulling him back to a throne. “William,” he began slowly, sitting in his throne and having his brother stand before him, “I know Mummy told you I’m going to be leaving in the morning.”

William almost visibly deflated. He’d clearly been expecting different news to come from his brother’s mouth, but the pout that placed itself on his features told Mycroft that William had been thinking about the departure of his big brother. “You shouldn’t,” he responded defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest and almost huffing. “You _can’t_ ,” William added in afterthought, as though saying it aloud would change anything.

Mycroft’s lips fell into a sympathetic frown. He knew his brother would be alone in the large palace without him, and they hardly even spent enough time together as it was. William would miss him, and Mycroft would miss his little brother dearly when he left. “It’s just university,” he soothed, hoping William would be open to the comfort. Mycroft squeezed the boy’s hand gently. “I’ll be back on for holidays and major events. It’s just Paris, William.” The boy’s pout deepened, and Mycroft paused a second before cracking a one-sided grin. “I have something for you.” Reaching to the side of his throne, where he kept a small bag, Mycroft handed it over to his brother.

William was not yet good at the game of the royal court, hiding his emotions and intentions, but Mycroft adored the openness his brother still had. He could see every ounce of surprise and anticipation on William’s face, and that made the deliverance of the gift sweeter. William opened the bag, pulling out a small, ornately decorate box that had a string hanging down. William looked confused, but Mycroft chuckled and reached for the gift.

“Here, like this,” he guided, used to saying those words as he taught William something new. Mycroft enjoyed being his younger brother’s tutor, always eager to help make him into a fine young man as he grew. Mycroft turned a key on the string into the box’s latch, opening it. Inside was a small, wooden violin with a box that moved mechanically over the strings, playing no tune of its own but accompanied with a soft tune coming from the box itself.

William took back the gift, holding it to his ear, and Mycroft watched happily as the boy recognized the song. William’s pale eyes glanced up to his brother’s, and he bounced on his feet. “It’s the song you taught me,” he told Mycroft almost dumbly, a sweet smile forming on his lips. Mycroft nodded, remembering the first real song he had shown William how to play. Mycroft was a distinguished piano player, but William was a violin prodigy, learning the instrument at a young age and only showing even more prowess as he got older.

“The very same,” Mycroft replied fondly, eyes soft as he reached for William’s spare hand, swinging it in time with the music, humming along. William joined in soon, grinning freely now.

When the song stopped, the mechanical bow ceased moving as well, and William shut the box. “Thank you, Mycroft,” he said dutifully, but William meant it, which was almost a rarity for the boy.

“Keep it and think of me while I’m gone. Pretend I’m playing it with you again,” Mycroft said, hoping it would calm his brother when he was gone. Reaching out for the gift once more, Mycroft took it gingerly in his hand, and he took the key from the lock, removing the string to show it on a loop: a necklace. He reached forward with it and William automatically ducked his head, letting it be put on him, and Mycroft sat back a minute later as his brother inspected the key. It was gold plated, clearly a decoration as well as functional, and inscribed along it were the words ‘ _Together in Paris_ ’.

William’s smile after reading the words could have lit up the entire ballroom by itself, Mycroft thought. “Really?” the ten-year-old asked as he moved forward into Mycroft’s space, wanting to be closer. “You have to promise!” he insisted, hugging his brother. William never shied away from affection, not even in very public events such as this, but Mycroft hugged his brother back, keeping the small boy close.

“I promise, my little bee,” Mycroft replied easily, using the nickname he had used for William for ages. “When you’re old enough and I’m no longer busy with school, we’ll go together.” He released the hug, lifting William’s chin to make sure the boy saw him. “Alright?” William nodded quickly, holding his music box tightly in hand. Mycroft pecked the young prince’s forehead fondly, about to continue before being interrupted.

A large crack sounded through the audience, juxtaposed to the smooth noise of the orchestra’s music, and a few seconds followed before a number of shrill cries escaped audience members. Mycroft looked through the ballroom, instantly on a higher alert, knowing any number of things could happen at a ball of this magnitude and importance, but he was hoping they’d get through a night on their own.

He was wrong. As the audience paused in their dancing to pay attention to the intrusion, the people parted, clearly not willing to stop whomever was planning on getting to the party. “William, stay behind me,” Mycroft instructed, standing and pulling William where he’d been told to go. Mycroft knew he wouldn’t be much good if a fight began, but he at least wanted to preserve his little brother. If danger came, William needed to be safe.

A few more tense seconds passed, and Mycroft watched as someone stepped from the crowd. His blood ran cold, and Mycroft’s jaw set. He stepped more directly in front of William, who couldn’t get a proper look at who had interrupted the ball, but he knew it couldn’t be good if Mycroft was becoming even more protective than normal.

Mycroft and William’s parents moved to the forefront of the crowd, hard glares on their faces, and the emperor stepped up. “You are never to show your face here again,” he commanded. “You were banished, Moriarty.”

The man in question did not seem to care. He was nearly the age of the emperor himself, hair visibly greying, but he moved with a sly quality to him, as though he was looking for a moment to sneak past everyone and finish his plans. Philip Moriarty was one of the emperor’s former confidantes, someone called upon to help William when he was sick as a young boy. He was meant to have healing powers, but Mycroft knew it as a ruse, something to gain the trust of the court and keep them in awe. William had healed, allowing the nobility to accept his claim of mystical healing properties with little argument, but within a year Moriarty had been cast out from the palace, and his family had been forced to flee the country. Moriarty, his wife, and their young son had been properly disposed of, or so the royals had thought.

“Banished?” Moriarty sneered, as if the words tasted bitter on his tongue. “Ah, no. Not quite.” His words left the ballroom silent, a sardonic tone falling from his lips. “See, I was thinking I rather liked it here. Comfortable place, the palace.” Moriarty stepped forward, looking almost nonchalant about his actions as he stepped closer to the emperor and his wife, both of which were standing close to each other and were still, frozen. “I was thinking I might come back, see if I can’t rid it of the _rats_ that for some reason think of it as home.”

A shiver went down Mycroft’s spine when Moriarty called them rats. It was meant to insult him and his family, but they only wanted this man gone. Guards were coming closer, but any sudden movements and surges forward could antagonize Moriarty further, and the consequences could be dire.

Behind Mycroft, William shivered. He only had bad memories of this man. Despite healing from his sickness, he hated the man, and he remembered Moriarty’s son coming with him most afternoons. James, the boy, had a strange fascination with William, and the young prince hated the thought of seeing those dark eyes again. No Moriarty would ever give him comfort.

“I’ll ask you to leave just once, and then we’ll have you removed,” William heard his father say, all of his authority transferred to the statement. Moriarty’s response was only laughter.

“Oh, that right?” Moriarty returned, grinning as though it was all a joke. “I don’t think so, actually.” He snapped his fingers, and several of the dancers from the ball brandished their own weapons, knives hidden in suit jackets and small revolvers concealed underneath skirts. Mycroft took a step back, hand on William’s shoulder, and he saw their parents glance around them. The danger was real and tangible, and they were surrounded. Mycroft didn’t like the thought of what would almost inevitably happen if Moriarty became angry and gave a signal. “The Holmes line ends here, tonight,” Moriarty commanded a second later, and Mycroft almost instantly pushed his brother back, hiding with him behind a throne, glad for the large cover. He knew their move wouldn’t be missed by all in the room, but it would give them a couple of seconds to think of somewhere to go.

Mycroft was focused on his brother and hoping to keep him from panicking, so he missed any warning the first gunshot might have had. William jolted and almost cried out, but Mycroft was moving, tugging him along. They couldn’t stay here.

Chaos erupted in the room, guests not knowing if the person beside them was in league with Moriarty and the rebelling people of the empire or not, but Mycroft didn’t care. He couldn’t think about their parents. Right now, he and William needed to escape, and they didn’t have much time to consider any alternatives.

Mycroft pulled his brother along, running into a servant hall, pausing only to make sure William was keeping up on his short legs. The boy was panting by the time they reached the end of the first hall, but the sound of violence was not far behind them, so Mycroft urged his brother to continue.

“This way!” they heard a second later, and a young, fair haired servant boy waved them close. “Servant exit, hurry!” Mycroft didn’t have time to consider the possibility of a boy this young being able to deceive them, aware that any time wasted could be the death of himself and his brother, so he pulled William forward again and ducked into the dark chamber.

When he realized William wasn’t behind him, Mycroft cursed under his breath. “William-,” he called out, turning back to see his brother reaching for the music box he’d dropped.

“You have to go, _now_ , your highness,” the young servant boy insisted, pushing William back into the servant corridor and with Mycroft, shutting the exit. Mycroft’s relief was overwhelming, but he couldn’t rest yet, reaching for his brother’s hand and moving along.

The hidden exit put them outside the palace grounds, and Mycroft could see a surge of people pushing in through the gates. A rebellion had been rumored about, but it was a constant threat, not one he ever expected to become reality. His father had mentioned it to him a time or two, but Mycroft knew it had never been more than a distant worry, not when so many other things occupied the mind of the emperor.

William looked exhausted, but Mycroft just brushed back his curls quickly. “We have to catch that train, come on,” he insisted, moving then, walking as much in the shadow or under cover as he could, rushing to the nearby train station. “Almost!” he stressed to William, seeing a train about to leave. The engine was roaring, and the caboose was in sight, if they could only make it.

Mycroft began to run, bringing William with him, and the caboose inched forward. The two princes moved as quickly as possible, seeing people at the back, looking at the princes. Mycroft reached a hand forward, catching the hand of one of the passengers, and he held tightly onto it and his brother both, using a final burst of strength to propel himself forward and get onto the train.

William lagged. He was tired, his short legs not moving as much with each step, and with each second the train got a bit farther from him. “William, hurry!” Mycroft implored, reaching out and barely grazing his brother’s hand, seeing the full panic on William’s face when he realized he couldn’t make it. Mycroft tried to jump from the train to be with his brother, but the passengers held him back, making comments on his safety and how he couldn’t risk it. William fell, ruining any chance of making it onto the train, and Mycroft felt his heart shatter when he saw the boy hit his head in the fall, knocking himself out. “William!” he cried out again, desperately trying to jump out of the passengers’ grips, but it was no use. William was out of sight, and Mycroft could do nothing to get him onto this train.

The thought of what would happen when someone recognized William as the only royal left in the imperial city was enough to make Mycroft crack, and as he forced himself to settle in for the long train ride, he finally wept.


End file.
